


Mine

by kaeorin



Series: Stark Tower: Avengers Drabbles [16]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 14:59:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19478290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: Loki suggests a private game to liven up one of Stark’s events, but it backfires on him a bit. Prompted by a lovely anon’s request for a prompt meme I reblogged over on Tumblr: LokiXReader and “love bite”.





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Possessiveness/rough/angry sex? I think we all know that Loki has a tendency of losing his temper, and that comes out in this fic even though he would never seek to purposely hurt the reader in his anger. Additionally, I make mention of hickeys. I don’t mention their actual appearance because I _get_ that they aren’t obvious against every skin tone, but they’re in here. The way I see it, you're going to know when someone’s giving you a hickey regardless of whether it actually shows up against your skin. Anyway, I hope you like this one!

The event was some kind of half-press conference, half-party. Earlier that night, Tony had announced one of his newest innovations to a large crowd of reporters and cameras, and then he’d spent the rest of the night rubbing elbows with the various celebrities, reporters, and scientists in attendance. As draining as the huge events could be, there was also something fun in being able to dress up and mingle with so many other people.You were recognizable enough for people to want to stop you and pull you into their conversations, so you rarely had to do that awkward thing where you stood on the outskirts of a conversation until someone finally invited you in, but you weren’t nearly as well-known as, say, Steve. The poor man couldn’t take more than a few steps into any given room before people were, well, quite frankly, mobbing him.

There was an added layer of anticipation in the air tonight, though. Loki was nowhere to be found. Your eyes scanned through all the faces in the room, but you didn’t spot him. He was here tonight, you knew that much. He’d come by your room earlier that very evening, sticking his head in the door and nearly giving you a heart attack as you fumbled with your zipper. He had been more or less fresh out of the shower, as evidenced by the lovely aura of soap and cologne that had surrounded him as he stepped closer to you to help you out.

“You are...radiant as always,” he’d said. His voice gave you the shiver: it was low, dark, hungry. Something about it made your skin feel electric. Maybe that was why you did not miss the way he was careful not to touch you. He worked your zipper with only the very tips of his fingers, barely ghosting his other hand along the material of your dress as it zipped. You tried not to let your disappointment show in your face when you turned towards him.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Probably it was a silly question tonight, given the long string of parties that he’d attended in the past, but sometimes he just...fried your brain a little. Those cheekbones. You reached to caress his face, but he took hold of your wrist and pulled your hand away. You might have been hurt, if he didn’t quickly sweep into a bow and press his lips to your knuckles.

“I’ve a proposal for you.” And then he’d looked up at you and laid out his plan. As long as he kept looking at you like that, you would have agreed to anything, but his request had intrigued you.

Your job was to make your way through the people and enjoy yourself, and his job was to watch and wait. If ever he caught you unaware, he would swoop in and claim his prize. If you were to happen upon him, well, you could do the same. You imagined that Stark’s parties bored him, and you couldn’t blame him. His time with the team was slowly beginning to change his public image, but there were still too many people who cringed away from him in the field. If he had his own little mission, as it were, to distract him from the reactions of others, perhaps he could withstand things longer.

So here you were, more or less on your own, but slowly becoming aware of his gaze on you. You couldn’t see him, hidden as he was by the sea of faces, but your skin prickled. He was here somewhere. With a smile and a gentle shake of your empty glass, you excused yourself from your current conversation and slipped towards the bar.

It didn’t offer much improved visibility, but it did offer you slightly more cover as you continued to search through the faces. At the moment, it was more about making sure you weren’t...unawares. The night was only just getting started, after all: as much as you knew you’d enjoy Loki’s prize, it would be a shame to get swept off so early.

The bartender handed you a fresh glass and as you thanked her, something caught your eye. There, between two guests: was that a flash of emerald? Your gaze lingered for a moment, but the crowd did not part to reveal the Asgardian. Well, then. You pressed yourself away from the bar and went back to mingling.

Conversation began to prove somewhat more difficult, as convinced as you were that Loki was nearby and watching hungrily, but somehow you kept your head about you. As the night wore on, the room grew steadily warmer, heated by all the bodies that danced and moved within its walls. Or maybe the warmth was all in your head. You could feel your cheeks flushing with warmth, much as they did when Loki crept up behind you and pulled you close to him. From time to time, you imagined that you could feel him, smell him. Each time you turned to look, however, there was no one there. You held your glass tightly, surreptitiously pressing it to your neck and chest here and there in hopes of easing the fire.

As flustered as you were growing, you weren’t quite sure what to say when a vaguely-familiar agent asked you to dance with him. You’d never really worked one-on-one with him, but you recognized his face as someone who often wished you good morning when he saw you. Dancing was easier than trying to focus on holding down a conversation, so you gratefully accepted. 

He was a perfectly adequate dancer, and a decent conversationalist, but you caught yourself watching the crowd. Most people out there were caught up in their own conversations, or distracted by the hors d'oeuvres coming around the room. Some of them were doing some people-watching of their own. No one seemed uncomfortable in the way that told you Loki was near, but you could feel him anyway. Your heart was thrumming in your chest. 

On some level, you felt bad for the agent. He was a good guy. The least you could do was focus on him for now, right? So you threw yourself into the conversation, into the dance. Before long, you found yourself laughing--genuinely laughing. Near the end of the song, the agent dipped you backwards, In the brief, dizzying moment before he pulled you back upright again, you could have sworn that you saw Loki glowering at the edge of the dance floor, but by the time you spun back to check the same position, he was gone.

A few more songs passed before the agent released you and dipped into a bow. You curtsied back at him, barely holding back your giggles. Someone elsewhere caught his attention, and he disappeared easily into the crowds.

You made your way back to the bar. It seemed like there were a lot more people here now than there were at the start of the night. That made sense, of course, but it also made it a little more tricky to get the bartender’s attention. When you did finally get to place your order, you let yourself lean against the bar. Someone pressed in close behind you. Your hackles rose, and just as you were about to raise your fist against whatever clueless jerk was in your personal space, a familiar scent reached your nose. When he brushed his fingertips along the exposed skin of your shoulder, it only confirmed your suspicions. His touch sent goosebumps thrilling along your skin in its wake. You knew that touch. He lowered his mouth to your skin, and you expected a quick kiss before he’d let you turn around to face him, but instead you felt his teeth. It was more of a nip than a bite, really—just enough pain to make a point. You laughed. “I haven’t forgotten. That whole time, I was _distinctly_ unaware of what was happening in the crowd. You had plenty of opportunity.”

The lightest ghost of a kiss behind your earlobe, then, and his presence was gone again before you could turn around.

The night wore on. You made your appearances with all of the others. You found Wanda and Vision sitting knee-to-knee on the edges of a pair of seats, deep in a heated discussion. Wanda’s eyes lit up when she spotted you, and she moved as though to pull you into the conversation, but you held your hands up to ward her off with a laugh. “I can already tell that I should stay out of this one. Let me know who wins, though.” They had a tendency to get deeply, deeply enmeshed in discussions of theoretical ethics or metaphysics, and while you could usually hold your own during mission briefings, it...wasn’t for you. Vision had near-instantaneous access to the internet, but Wanda had the _fire_. They’d be fine on their own.

By the time you happened across Thor and the super-soldiers, the god of thunder must have broken out the Asgardian mead, because he was especially boisterous and exuberant. He gestured wildly as he recounted a tale to Steve and Barnes and quite a few others sat nearby, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you listened. Over the din of the room, you could have sworn that you heard the rustle of a cloak, but of course that was ridiculous. Loki had a flair for the dramatic, but he wouldn’t wear a cloak to a party like this.

When you ran into Tony, he was, rather understandably, a bit distracted by his various other guests. He still offered you a borderline inappropriate compliment on your dress and then glanced over your shoulder as though looking for someone.

“Loki is lurking,” you explained gently, but you kept the rest of the game to yourself. You were starting to get a little lonely, now that the night was winding down.

“He does tend to do that, huh?” He sounded sympathetic. He put his glass down and started forward, taking your hands in his. “Here, let me help you forget him. It’s a crime that he’s not around to enjoy this dress. Let’s dance.”

Any protests that you might have offered—you recognized at least one newscaster and a handful of up-and-comers in various scientific fields in the group of people he was just talking to—disappeared as he led you back onto the dance floor. Despite his earlier lecherous comments, Tony was a perfect gentleman. His hands and eyes remained exactly where they should. That was something you loved about him. For most of his life, he’d had this big reputation as a playboy, but he didn’t treat women like _things_. His movements on the dance floor were a little bit slower than Sam’s, but also a little bit more sensual. He held you closer than Sam did, but kept the mood light with a murmured commentary on the sea of faces that still filled the room.

He dipped you, much as Sam had done earlier, and just like before you searched the edges of the dance floor. This time, Loki was nowhere to be seen. It was hard to shake the little pang that stabbed through you at that: had he grown tired of the game? Had he left early?

He pulled you back into a standing position, grinning at you, but a pair of fierce green eyes burning over his shoulder drew your attention away. An embarrassingly-breathy “Oh!” escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you gestured at him with your chin.

“Stark. May I—cut in?” Loki’s voice was tight. Tony looked at you with a joyful little spark in his eyes that suggested that he was considering denying Loki’s request. Maybe something in your face convinced him otherwise, though, because he heaved a little sigh and made a show of releasing you.

“You got it, Wednesday. Have fun, kids.” He caught your eyes and winked at you. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You thought about attempting a joke as he headed back to his group, but Loki didn’t seem to be in the mood for jokes. When he pulled you against his body, he was almost rigid. His grip on you was just this side of painful. Maybe he was frustrated? You hadn’t had much success in the way of stalking him through the crowd, but so what? You’d felt his eyes on you just about all night long; how did he expect you to sneak up on him?

Slowly, his grip began to loosen, though the rest of his muscles did not. He was normally so much fun to dance with. In private, when it was just the two of you, he even sometimes let himself get downright silly. You missed that. You reached up to tug gently on his hair, in hopes of bringing his attention back to you. “Hey. Are you okay?”

When he finally looked you in the face, his eyes flashed angrily for only a moment before his face softened a little. He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to remember the others in the room and on the dance floor, and shut it again with a quick shake of his head. “Not here.”

With that, he turned and made a beeline for the door. He didn’t drag you along with him, which was kind of a nice surprise, but also made it difficult to follow him through the people. He didn’t stop when he got out of the room: he took a winding path through several hallways and up several flights of stairs. Before long, he stopped just outside a door--the door to his rooms--and spun around to face you. The intensity in his face made you want to back away from him, but you held your ground.

“I’m right here. Talk to me,” you pleaded. “What happened?” But he didn’t. Instead, he turned away again and shoved his door open. This time, he did close his fingers around your wrist and pull you inside. His touch was rough, but, after being deprived of it all night, it still made you burn. He slammed the door behind you and then stepped away. He was running his fingers through his hair, a frantic attempt at self-soothing if ever you’d seen it. “Loki.”

“You—” He growled low in his throat and reached to take your face in his hands. Rather than finish his sentence, he crashed his mouth against yours. As tightly-restrained as his movement and his body had been, his kiss was _not_. He dragged your lips open, probed hungrily with his tongue. Distracted as you were, you didn’t even realize he was pushing you backwards until you were pressed against the door. He pinned you there with his body even as he claimed you with his mouth. It was only when he bit your lip just a little too hard and elicited an involuntary whimper from you that he pulled away.

“It’s so easy for you. They all love you.” He lowered his mouth to your shoulder and laved it with open-mouthed kisses. Here and there he would punctuate a sentence with a sharp nip, never quite enough to make you whimper again. “All it takes is a few words, a soft look, and they’ll fall to their knees for you.” His hands were roaming your body, pressing against the thin material of your dress as though seeking the skin that it covered.

“That _is_ kind of my job, isn’t it?” Now that you were slightly more assured that something terrible hadn’t happened while you were apart, amusement was starting to fill in the places where anxiety had once settled in. “That’s what I do in the field, you know, when I’m not shooting or getting shot at. I guess I do it in normal social situations too?”

He snarled into your neck and curled his hands around your hips. “That’s not—” His hot breath against your neck distracted you from whatever his hands were doing, until the material of your dress began to bunch up around your waist. When he’d gotten most of your skirt hiked up, he brushed his fingers against the front of your panties and groaned. They were lace. He liked it when you wore lace. “You don’t know how they look at you.”

Was this...jealousy? It was a little hard to focus, with all the conflicting thoughts careening around in your head, but you swallowed hard and arched against him. “I know that you were looking at me,” you said roughly. “I felt your eyes on me all night. Don’t you know what you doto me?” Maybe it was a trick of the light, but you could have sworn that his eyes went dark just then. He didn’t say anything, just held your gaze—a challenge—and arched an eyebrow at you.

He didn’t wait for permission before pulling your panties to one side, not that you would have withheld it. When his touch finally brushed against bare skin, you could feel your pulse begin to race. Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he parted your outer lips and touched you. Your breath caught in your throat.

You were wet, of course. You had been for most of the night. “That’s for you,” you whispered. “That’s because of you. You know that, right?”

“Because of me,” he echoed. Elegant fingers pressed against your entrance, easily slipped inside. Your knees wobbled, but the door kept you on your feet.

Loki, on the other hand, sank to his knees. He looked up at you and somehow you knew to take hold of your skirt. With his newly-freed hand, he tugged the thin scrap of lace past your hips, down past your ankles, and then tossed them to the side. His fingers worked a lazy rhythm inside you while he sank his teeth into your upper thigh and sucked—hard. Something about that delicate balance of pain and pleasure—and the knowledge that he was trying to leave his mark on you—stopped your breath. When he was satisfied with his work against your skin, he pulled back again to look up at you along the length of your body. The same fire and intensity were still in his face, but the anger had shifted. It was hunger.

He parted your outer lips again so he could study you. When you didn’t object, he moved forward so he could close his mouth around you, and the sudden heat was nearly your undoing. Nearly. He knew what he was doing. He rocked his tongue against you until you were right there at the edge, aching, straining, and then let everything go still. When you arched closer to his mouth, he slammed your hip back against the door and held you there. You looked down at him and, somehow, even on his knees before you with his mouth buried against your cunt, his eyes were still sharp and demanding as they took you in. He pulled away again, but stayed close enough that you could feel his breath when he spoke again: “You’d beg me, wouldn’t you? If I asked?”

Some little last shred of pride prickled in you, kept you from nodding at him right away, but then he blew warm breath against your clit and crossed his fingers inside you, and you shuddered. “Yes,” you finally said through gritted teeth. “Are you asking?”

For what felt like the first time all evening, he treated you to the dazzling smile that made your brain short out. “Not now. But it is very good to know.” Then he closed his mouth around you again. The same mouth that had devoured and demanded only moments before now felt cautious, ginger. He maintained that same grip on your hip, holding you in place as he took his time. As you so often did, you got the feeling that he was savoring you, that he was not simply there to work you into an orgasm so he could move things along. His rhythm shifted a bit, grew more urgent, and you covered your mouth tightly with both hands as your orgasm wracked through you.

He didn’t stop until you were well and truly through, until your moans turned to whimpers. Even then he remained in position. He held your gaze as he thoroughly licked your arousal from his fingers, and then darted forward to close his mouth around you one last time, like...he couldn’t get enough. Only then did he rise to his feet. He kissed you, and though it was nearly as intense as it had been earlier, some of the frenzy was gone. There was still a fire in his lips, in his touch, but it no longer burned so far out of control. The taste of yourself, mingled with the taste of his mouth, made your head spin. Before you could react, however, he backed away again, and guided you over to the bed. 

A quick, sharp shove, and you were toppling backwards onto the expensive sheets and covers. He stood over you for a moment, taking you in with an oddly self-satisfied look on his face, and then stretched out over you. Once again he struggled to hike your skirt up around your waist, and you might have teased him for his impatience if his other hand had not immediately reached between you to pinch your overstimulated clit. Your words turned into a gasp, a nonsensical plea. He leaned down close enough for his lips to brush against yours but did not kiss you.

“Do you know what I saw tonight?” The question confused you. He must have seen the question in your face, because he smiled, almost to himself, as he worked the fly on his trousers and freed his erection. “When I was watching you from the shadows? Do you know what I saw?” You felt, more than saw, how he stroked his shaft. You could _feel_ the heat radiating from his arousal. Desperation blurred the edges of your already-hazy mind. “The number of men—of _boys—_ who dared put their eyes on you, who dared to look at you with lust in their eyes. They wanted this.” He reached between you to guide his cock not to your entrance, but to rub it against you. The slick heat, combined with the fierceness in his voice, made your stomach tighten. “I could see it in their eyes, love. So many of them thought about taking you like this. But here you are, with me. Because you are _mine_.” With that, he buried himself deeply inside you in one smooth motion. You could have cried out with the sheer filling _relief_ of it. “You can let them look, my precious girl, and use their desires against them, as long as I’m the one who gets to fuck your pretty cunt.”

“You are,” you gasped. He drove himself deeper with every thrust. It was hard to formulate coherent thoughts, let alone to speak them aloud. “God, _please_ , Loki.”

Maybe the struggle was similar for him. He stopped speaking and instead closed his mouth over yours as he fucked into you. You broke the kiss, turning your head so you could breathe, and he trailed his lips along your jawline, up behind your earlobe. His breath was ragged. He was saying something, almost chanting it against your skin. “Mine.”

The realization on its own was almost enough to make you come again. This man—this Norse fucking _god_ was fucking you like he couldn’t help himself and claiming you as his own? You whimpered under the weight of it all. He fixed his eyes on your face, perhaps to be sure that you were well, and gently tilted your head back to expose your throat. Through everything else that was happening, you could feel him sucking deep bruises into your skin. In another situation, you might have objected, told him that you were far too old to be roaming the tower with love bites decorating your skin. But the way he gripped your hip, the intensity with which he was thrusting into you, they told you that he needed to make his claim. The gentle way he stroked your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, it made you want to let him. 

He broke away from your neck for a moment to utter another coarse “Mine” and, somehow, that was enough. You dug your fingers into his shoulders as you came, hard, around him. He didn’t stop moving against you, didn’t stop mouthing your neck or rasping into your ear.

He was still moving as you began to come back down to Earth. It was your turn. You tightened your arms around him and pulled him down so you could whisper to him. “Loki, please. Loki, my love, my lord. I want you to come.” Even with him, you were not normally one to beg, but it wasn’t hard to see the effect your words had on him. His breath caught in his throat and, though his thrusts slowed, they grew steadier and more purposeful. He made it so easy. The words spilled from your lips amid moans and whimpers. You begged him to fill you, to claim you as his. It didn’t take long before his hips were shuddering against yours as he spilled his heat deep inside you. He rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

You smoothed your hands up his chest, suddenly desperate to touch him, and worked the buttons of his shirt with clumsy fingers. When you were finished, you pushed his shirt aside and pressed your hands to his skin. He shifted, but only to cup your face in his palms again. His heartbeat slowed to a whisper beneath your fingertips.

“You feel safe,” you mumbled, without thinking. As soon as you did, heat rushed into your cheeks and you had to close your eyes in a cringe. No matter what you had, only moments before, been willing to whimper against his mouth, you didn’t often _say_ things like that. Quiet laughter rumbled through his chest. You might have pulled your hands away, if you didn’t know that doing so would reveal just how embarrassed you were. Thankfully, he took pity on you and pulled one of your hands up to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

“I never would have expected a Midgardian to say something like that to me, of all people.” More kisses, now pressed to each of your fingertips. He placed your hand carefully on your own chest and rolled onto his side next to you. Then he pressed his hand against your belly and splayed his fingers wide, as though trying to touch as much of you as possible. “Be assured, love, that I will do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

In a few hours’ time, you both would wake to undress for bed. Loki would tuck the covers around you and pull you close to his chest, as he always did. But for now, you dozed with the gentle weight of his hand on your stomach and the quiet rumble of his voice in your ear as he mumbled to himself: “Mine.”


End file.
